


When We Crash, We Burn

by Ode_to_ships



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, alternative universe - canon compliant, basically like these kids just cannot get it together, bellamy is really bad at admitting feelings, but there is a resolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: "It takes Bellamy all of two minutes after walking out of the gates of Arkadia to decide that he is going to get drunk when they return.He isn't usually like this. He drinks when they have bonfires, and he enjoys it, but he never lets himself get to drunk. He has people to look after. And then there was the incident...s. Plural.But today, today he is going to get drunk. Because not two minutes out of the gate, Roan rides up on his horse, and Clarke is beaming.Bellamy is going to get really, really, drunk."It takes them a little while to catch up to each other.





	When We Crash, We Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't beta read, so be gentle with me. I've only written one other Bellarke fic, but I've been meaning to write more, so here we go. I hope you guys enjoy it(:

It takes Bellamy all of two minutes after walking out of the gates of Arkadia to decide that he is going to get drunk when they return.

He isn't usually like this. He drinks when they have bonfires, and he enjoys it, but he never lets himself get to drunk. He has people to look after. And then there was the incident...s. Plural.

But today, today he is going to get drunk. Because not two minutes out of the gate, Roan rides up on his horse, and Clarke is _beaming_.

Bellamy is going to get really, _really_ , drunk.

It isn’t that Bellamy dislikes Roan. He’s actually useful and he cares about keeping peace, which Bellamy isn’t going to complain about. It’s the fact that Clarke likes him. Which sounds really juvenile, but she beams at Roan, and doesn’t beam like that at Bellamy.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bellamy has taken to having Bree in his cabin most nights, but he dashes that thought quickly because it’s never been like that between him and Clarke. It never will be.

“Hunting party?” Roan asks, still sitting on his horse, so everyone has to kind of crane their necks to look him in the eye. Bellamy seems to be the only one irritated by this.

“Yeah. Care to join?” Clarke responds.

Roan nods his assent, and Bellamy wishes he had alcohol with him right now.

Two hours later, they’re heading back to Arkadia, and Roan and Clarke haven’t stopped walking next to each other. There’s a vicious jealousy that rips through Bellamy at the fact that he used to be the one next to Clarke, and now he isn't.

  
_3 months ago_

“Blake you should be drinking, and you aren’t drinking!” Raven shouts as she approaches him. He can see she has 2 cups, one presumably for him.

“Someone has to make sure you all don’t fall into the fire,” he retorts.

“Sometimes I want to be insulted by the fact that you don’t trust _any of us_  to take care of ourselves, but then I remember how mushy you are,” Raven says with a grin.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, and takes the cup of moonshine from her, despite his better judgement. It’s bitter and it goes down about how battery acid would go down, but Raven is right.

Surviving the end of the world is no small feat, and he deserves to celebrate a little bit.

There’s always a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminding him why exactly he doesn’t deserve anything. But he chooses to ignore it for now, downing the rest of the moonshine, if only to drown the voice out.

By his third cup of moonshine, Bellamy is drunk. He doesn’t drink much, so when he does the alcohol sneaks into his bloodstream, hot and strong. It makes him giddy and dizzy. He’s floating but so heavy at the same time, and the voice in the back of his mind has shut up for the night. He can breathe. And it’s glorious.

He stumbles around, searching. Despite the free feeling flying through him, he’s aching. He has to find her. He has to tell her. He _needs_  to tell her.

He sees a flash of blonde hair, but it isn’t her blonde hair. He can tell. He spends an exorbitant amount of time staring at her.

_She isn't here_ , he thinks to himself. _I gotta find her. Gotta tell her_.

He’s grumbling this to himself, repeating it over and over so he doesn’t lose his nerve.

He reaches her room, and knocks on her door, firm and loud.

She answers, looking slightly surprised to find him standing outside her door.

“Bellamy?”

“Clarke I have to tell you something,” he’s pretty sure he slurred a little bit, but he doesn’t care. Just as long as he gets this out.

“It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” She asks, but she’s smiling fondly.

“No,” he says, “I have to tell you this now. I love you.” He can see her eyes widen. He knows he should probably be panicking, but he isn’t. There’s a peace that comes with telling her this.

“You love me,” she states, and he nods vigorously. “Can you tell me that when you’re sober?”

“Of course I can,” he slurs out. Why would she think he can’t tell her he loves her when he’s sober?

“Alright, Bellamy. Come in. I think you should sleep this off,” she motions for him to come. She helps him out of his jacket and boots. He lays down on her bed, and instantly falls asleep, the alcohol making it impossible for him to keep his eyes open. He’s so heavy. So.. heavy..

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s a press of a body against his. He allows himself 2 minutes to enjoy the warmth, before his eyes shoot open and he remembers the events of the night before.

Sure enough, he looks down and there’s Clarke. She’s curled into him, her face soft and open. He wants to kiss her.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he slowly climbs out of her bed. He slides his boots on, his jacket, and quietly leaves her room. He didn’t know she had been awake to hear him leave.

He’s walking as fast as he can towards his room, trying to get there before he breaks out into a full fledged panic attack.

He had told Clarke he _loves_  her. And God does he love her. But she has never given any indication that she loves him back. Cares about him, sure, but loves him, no. Not the way he loves her.

He finally reaches his room, and once he’s inside he finally lets himself panic. He’s an idiot. A fucking idiot.

After he calms down, he changes his clothes, heads out and goes to work.

He spends the entire day avidly avoiding Clarke because he can’t figure out how he’s supposed to face her. He can’t figure out how he’s supposed to apologize for feelings that are very real, and live buried deep inside his heart everyday. It’s a disease, and there's no cure. He feels like a teenager, but he can’t place the feeling in his chest he gets whenever she walks into the same room as him. And it feels like it’s carving a hole in him, so the only thing he can compare it to, is a disease. One that takes everything in him, and burns it down.

He hopes it never goes away.

The strange thing about avoiding Clarke, is that it isn’t all that hard. He had fully expected to have to fight harder to avoid having a conversation with her about his massive fuck up, but she hasn’t tried to find him, or talk to him. And when he had turned around and walked the other way when he had seen her in the council room earlier, she had let him go.

It makes him feel even worse, because he must’ve effectively shattered their friendship with his actions, and that thought makes him sad. Anger holds no place inside him.

He keeps avoiding her for the rest of the day.

__________

  
He can’t stop. It’s been 2 weeks and he can’t stop. He wants more than anything to talk to her. He wants to make it all okay again, and he doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know what he would even say to convince her that he can put it all behind him.

Luckily for him, or maybe unluckily, that night there’s another bonfire which means more moonshine.

The idea of liquid courage makes him feel better. One cup of moonshine should be enough to dash his self depreciation, and make way for bravery. He’ll talk to Clarke, and everything will work itself out. He hopes.

3 cups of moonshine later, he’s drunk. Again. But he has a mission, and let it be said that Bellamy Blake does not shy away from a mission.

The thing is, even through the drunken haze, he knows this is a bad idea. But he can’t stop himself. He _can't_. Because the alcohol has amplified the emptiness in his chest that took hold the day he and Clarke started avoiding each other.

Before he can really register what he’s doing, he’s knocking on her door.

She opens it up with tired eyes, and a frown. She knew he was coming before he had gotten here. He wants to laugh because he’s predictable, and he wants to cry because he’s pathetic and she doesn’t want him here.

“Bellamy..” she sighs out, and yeah he definitely wants to cry.

“Clarke,” he half shouts because she can’t say anything until she hears what he has to say, “Clarke when I told you I love you, I meant it,” he slurs. And _fuck him_ that is not what he wanted to say. He can’t stop.

“I avoided you because I didn’t know how to tell you, or explain to you what happened. But I am here to make it right,” he isn't sure that what he’s saying makes any sense whatsoever.

“Bellamy please…” he can hear the edge to her voice, but he can’t register it.

“Clarke.. Princess,” he murmurs as he moves into her space, and she doesn’t back away.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads, “Please don’t do this.”

He’s confused now, but the alcohol is so hot in his veins that his next move seems like a really appropriate idea.

He leans down, and kisses her softly. She doesn’t exactly kiss him back, but she doesn’t shove him away either.

When he does pull away, she looks like someone punched her in the stomach.

“Come on Bellamy, let’s get you to bed,” and again, she helps him get out of his jacket and boots, and into her bed.

“I’ll tell you when I’m sober,” he says because that feels important, like he has to say it.

“Okay, Bellamy,” she whispers.

The next morning, he sneaks out again in his shame, and leaves Clarke alone in her room. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t see her crying.

  
_________

  
The next time it happens there’s no bonfire, he’s just drunk. He idly wonders when he became this dependent on alcohol to feel like he was strong enough to confront the demons in the night. To confront _her_.

He doesn’t drink a lot, only when Raven stumbles over with moonshine because Monty decided to make a new batch and he needs people to try it. So roughly once a month, Bellamy is rip roaring drunk.

Clarke is never there. He wonders why. He remembers the 2 times prior that he had told her he loves her, and he remembers promising to tell her when he was sober, and it was only blood pumping through his veins.

He never has.

He knows that Clarke doesn’t want to hear that he loves her. He knows she’s been humoring him because she cares about him, but it’s nothing more than that.

So when he’s stumbling to her door, he wants to kick himself. He wants someone to come walking down this hallway, and tell him it’s a bad idea.

No one comes, so Bellamy knocks on her door.

She opens the door, and it’s the same as the other times. He fumbles through a confession.

She listens, doesn’t ask him not to say anything, just listens.

He falls asleep, and in the morning, he’s gone again.

It’s that very same night that he invites Bree to spend the night with him.

He needs to temper the ache in his chest. He has to douse some of the flame that licks up his throat whenever he sees her pointedly not looking at him. He has to drown out his confessions ringing in his ears.

Bree helps a little bit. It’s not enough, and Bellamy finds a whole new level of self depreciation.

  
_Present Day_

  
The walls of Arkadia come into view, and Bellamy finds a serious relief in knowing that he can finally get away from Clarke and Roan, and their laughter. He has never hated someone so much in his life.

He wants to blame Clarke for this, for letting him say the words in the first place. He wants to hate her for never coming after him. But he can’t.

So he jogs into camp, finds Bree, and kills an hour before he’s supposed to be in the council room.

  
_________

 

When he gets to the council room, it’s empty. Save for Clarke. He doesn’t want to go in. He does anyway because he’s a fucking masochist.

She doesn’t even look at him, and that sets something alight in him that he hasn’t felt towards her since their days at the drop ship. This.. fury, is an animal clawing at his insides, begging to get out. So he lets it.

“You must really hate me, huh Princess?” He says, crossing his arms over his chest, like they’ll offer some sort of protection for his heart. He feels the acid of his words over his tongue, and it feels _so good_  to feel something other than desperation towards her.

“I don't hate you,” she says simply, still not looking at him.

“You don’t look at me anymore,” he throws like an accusation.

“You don’t talk to me anymore,” she says back, still with no heat.

He wants her to be mad. He wants her to fight him. He wants her to tell him he’s the biggest fucking asshole for putting all his emotions out when she wasn’t ready. He knows she’s mad that he did, but she’s so goddamned calm. It’s setting him on edge.

Because if she isn’t mad, she doesn’t care. And he’ll shatter if she’s stopped caring about him. About them.

“You know why I don’t talk to you. You just never wanted to fix it,” he knows it isn’t fair, but it gets the reaction he wanted. Her head snaps up, and there’s a fire in her eyes.

His entire body sags with relief at seeing her fired up, but he doesn’t let it show.

“Do you have any recollection _at all_ of what actually happened between you and I?” She demands.

“I was there, Princess. I know what happened,” he spits back.

“Your old age must be making you senile, Blake, if you think that _I'm_ the one that didn’t want to fix this.”

“I told you how I feel, and instead of letting me down easy, you let me avoid you. I put everything out there, _like I always do,_ and once again, you ignored it,” he says through clenched teeth.

“You are a grown man, Bellamy. I shouldn't have to chase you down to get you to admit how you feel,” she says, walking forward so she’s in his face, “Fighting is so easy for you huh? But love is just too difficult isn't it?” There’s venom in her voice, and her words cut a place inside him he never thought she would reach.

“Love wouldn’t be so fucking difficult if the people I love weren’t so goddamned unlovable,” he spits the words in her face, and she crumples. He regrets them immediately.

She doesn’t reel back. Her anger is gone, and all the fight collapses out of her, and he wants to bash his head in.

“Clarke…. I didn’t… I didn’t mean that,” he’s begging, pleading with her.

She stands there for a few more seconds before she looks down, and he can feel panic rising in his throat and his chest.

“You were supposed to say it sober, Bellamy,” she says so quietly, he isn’t sure he heard her.

“What?” He asks, desperation tied into his question.

She looks up at the ceiling, and takes a deep breath, “You were supposed to tell me you love me, sober. You never did. I waited. I was giving you time. You never told me sober. And each time you would sneak out, I would be lying there hoping, just fucking praying, that you’d turn around and whisper it. But you couldn’t even admit it to the quiet. Even when you thought I was sleeping. So I let it go. I let you avoid me because I didn’t want to push something that was only there when you were drunk,” she says all this without looking at him.

The fire in him dies. The anger dissipates, and turns into horror, and sadness. His arms drop from their crossed position, and he has to run his hand through his hair. Something to make himself move. He turns away from her and walks across the room, and he can feel the tears, the choking sobs. He _hates_  himself.

“And then I saw you with Bree, and I just knew.”

He whips around again, and she looks so defeated.

“N-no,” he chokes out.

But before he can tell her, before he can say anything, the rest of the council comes in. She sends him a small smile, and the cut she made earlier with her words throbs. He spends the entire council meeting wondering how many cuts they’re going to give each other before they start bandaging each other up.

  
________

 

He doesn’t see Clarke for two more days, whether because she’s avoiding him or because she’s actually busy, he doesn’t know.

The third night, he chances it and heads to her room. Because even if they can’t ever get passed this, he’s not going to let her think that he doesn’t love her with every damned part of his body.

He’s at her door before he’s ready, but he knocks anyway. And this feels too familiar. It feels like an old wound, standing outside her door. He’s going to make it better.

She opens the door. It all feels like it’s set up to fail.

“I love you. Like probably way too fucking much to be healthy, and I really don’t care. I didn’t say it to you sober because I thought I had crossed a line. I know you’re scared, and I know you’re battle weary when it comes to love-”

“Bellamy-” she starts, but he holds up his hand, and she lets him continue.

“It felt selfish to tell you something like that when you’ve been trying to find some semblance of healing after the shit we’ve been through. And then I did it anyway, drunk no less. I’m a fucking idiot Clarke, I can’t help that. You make me kind of stupid. But you’re not unlovable, and I shouldn’t have said that because it’s so far from the truth. Maybe you aren’t going to believe that, but here I am sober, and I’ll spend the rest of my life of this planet making sure you know you’re lovable, even if you don't feel the same.” He’s a little out of breath when he finishes his impromptu speech, but he doesn’t stop looking at her.

The thing about Clarke is, she can hide emotions really well. So Bellamy is currently standing outside her room, having just professed his love to her, and she’s giving him nothing.

And then all at once, she collapses into him. Her arms go around his neck, and her face is pressed to his neck. He immediately wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him. In turn, he buries his face into her hair.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know you’re lovable too,” she whispers into his skin.

“Clarke-” he starts because he doesn’t need her to love him the same way, he just needs to know she wants him around.

“You’re not going to argue with me, Bellamy. I’m- I can’t say the words right now, but I need you to know that there are words to say. They’re there. It’s there,” she says fiercely, pulling back to look at him.

She can’t say it, so he says it for her, “You love me.”

She nods.

And the rest doesn’t matter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank y'all for reading! Come sob with me over Bellarke and the season 4 finale on tumblr. Cause like.. you know. 
> 
> I'm impvlsivee (:


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